


siren

by ryanman98



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Abuse, Backstory, Character Study, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Colonialism, Gen, Grooming, Manipulation, Sexual Abuse, Worldbuilding, bad bad things, headcanons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-20 14:32:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8252623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryanman98/pseuds/ryanman98
Summary: the sea-women sing as the waves crash on the island shore; they have always sang true to her and even though now they say do not trust the man with the dragon-bone cane, she will turn her backs to them and on the day she does, she will have left the name of aseela behind with the grass her grandmother braids into her hair, floating in the ocean that will not sing to her again.the sea-women always sang to her of escape, of freedom, of a world larger than her little island village. now she has become one of them through her own actions and not those of the ocean-god, and she sings to the people of the mainland that think her magic comes from when she moves her hips and rolls her tongue; she sings to them and they come closer, closer, lured by the sway that is fueled by their own lust and desire and then she pulls secrets from their lips and returns to the one who gives her orders.he will tell her again that her name is aversa and she is his, and belongs to no one but him. he pushes the memories of her village out of her head but she still thinks, she still knows that her name was aseela and she belongs to no one but herself.





	

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by https://8tracks.com/detectiverobomonkey/siren-songs and best read with this accompaniment. see end notes for explanation of the fic

she is ten years old and her name is aseela. the sea sings lullabies to her when she's in her hut on the beach, lying on her woven mat with her arms as a pillow. being alone is alright when she's ten because she's friends with the hermit crabs and the sand squishes in between her bare toes, and when she listens to the water it feels like it does when she's swimming in the sea, when the foam lifts her like she's the long-fringed leaves that wash ashore that the people in her village use to roof their huts and weave into their baskets, and aseela always walks to collect the ones that nobody wants so grandmother can braid them into her hair and tell her, _you are one with the sea and the land that give us life, and the gods shall bless you._ and then grandmother will lean forwards and kiss her nose with her wrinkled old lips, and aseela will scrunch up her face and giggle. grandmother will do the same to her brother and sister, atheer who is nine and thinks he's too old for such things but allows it anyway and little nisma who is six and wants to be a princess. she will braid their hair and say they are blessed, so they must be sure to eat all of their dinner or the ocean-god will gobble them up whole, toenails and all! and they will say _grandmother, the ocean-god will not gobble our toenails,_ and grandmother will say _that is because you children don't clean out the sand from under them well enough._  
  
the world need not be any bigger when she is aseela, ten years old and picking the fallen hard-shelled tree-fruit from the sand. but she pretends nonetheless that out there exists dragons and fairies and griffons told of in the stories that come from the mainland, and one day she will see one and they will not make fun of her for being too tall like the birds that stand on one leg in the shallows, using their long beaks to pick for prey. they will not push her down and pull on her braid and tell her _the ocean-god couldn't bless you, sinful thing, child of ruin with poison in her veins._ she will not tell her grandmother of when they push her down and steal the food she's collected and she's only able to gather up half of it again; she will say she fell and that is why her knees are scraped and her skirt is torn. grandmother will say _you will grow into your legs in time,_ _aseela_ , while mending her skirt as the soup simmers over the fire.  
  
she does not go to the schoolhouse when the other children do. grandmother taught her the letters and numbers and words she needs to know, and about her people and their way of life on the island, and stories— old, old stories. aseela likes the one of the sea-women, girls that wanted to be no man's bride that melted into the ocean-god's arms, and the ocean-god made them into immortal creatures with teeth like that of a shark and skin as blue as the water reflecting the sky. aseela will say _will i have to be a man's bride someday?_ and grandmother will say _no, my child, you will be no one but yourself._  
  
when she is twelve she is aseela and she cannot sleep, and the rest of the town, even her grandmother and her brother and sister (who are not truly her family, not by blood), are in the village, watching dancers swirl torches and listening to the drums that are loud enough to shake teeth in skulls. she hears whooping and laughter from the beach outside her hut. the ocean still sings and it tells her they fear what they do not understand but the ocean fears nothing and it loves you. aseela likes to think that if she melts into the surf then the ocean-god will finally turn her to a sea-woman of foam and teeth and she will finally have a place to exist without hearing whispers or taunts.  
  
she sees lights on the sea. ships, she thinks— she sees them come into the island port to take their crates full of fruits that are foreign to them, to give out cloth and candles and books. the people that trade are brown but not as brown as the islanders, and they wear long robes in colors of red and purple that aseela had thought only came on birds and berries. some of them paint their faces with violet markings that are pretty but aseela does not know what they mean.  
  
the ships, if they are going to the island, will have to wait until the festival is over, because there will be nothing to trade. as aseela watches she notices that the ships are not sailing to the east side of the island, where the port is, but keeping to the north. when the ship is close enough that aseela could swim out to it if she wanted to, a light soars from the ship to the beach. as it gets closer, aseela realizes that it's a big ball of fire— she runs to the side before it hits, demolishing her hut with one blast and blowing a crater in the sand so hot that it turns the sides to glass. it explodes into flame. cinders fall onto aseela's skin and her clothing and they burn but she does not feel them— she pats them out and then scrambles to her feet and runs for the village.  
  
_warships,_ she shouts. _warships are attacking the island, from the north._  
  
and nobody pays attention. she breathes heavily, and tries again.  
  
_warships,_ she cries. _they're going to attack the village!_  
  
and this time someone notices. it's one of the boys that calls her bird-legs. _go away, curse-blood,_ he jeers. he takes a handful of the coals from his torch and throws them at her. they scatter at her feet.  
  
_there are warships coming,_ aseela says. _they attacked the beach. they threw a huge, flaming rock!_  
  
and the townsfolk jeer and tell her to leave, and she tries to insist, _they're going to attack, the rock is down at the beach and you can see it for yourself,_ and then the second rock hits the village.  
  
aseela rolls and lands on her side. the village, made all of reeds and leaves and wood, is engulfed in flames. people try to carry their loved ones and the flame traps them, too. there are screams everywhere.  
  
there is flame on her arm, feeding off her skin. she feels nothing— it feels like water in her hand. she scoops it up, slowly standing, and it burns in her hand. she clenches her fist and it fizzles out.  
  
she runs towards the fire, trying to gather it all up in her arms— but it's too much, she can't, there is too much screaming and burning, burning, burning, and she thinks _why did the fire choose me when i'm meant to be in the ocean?_  
  
_you did this,_ the boy shouts at her, as she's watching the village burn. _the sin in your blood set the town aflame. burn with them!_  
  
_i can't,_ aseela says. _the fire doesn't hurt me._  
  
he yanks her braid, shoving her down to her knees, and puts a torch to it. he burns it off, the grass in it crumbling into ash. he spits.  
  
_then live with the fire,_ he says. _and live with the sin that it's you who destroyed us all._ and he dies when the next rock hits.  
  
aseela runs. tears steam when they run down her cheeks. her clothes are burned and her hair is short and burned at the ends where the boy took his torch to it, and it is now she feels the pain of playing with fire. she runs into the ocean and submerges herself in it, praying, _please take me, ocean-god, i am sorry, i am sorry, please remove the fire from my blood._ the ocean puts out any cinders in her tattered clothes and her hair but it does not turn her into a sea-woman and it does not let her drown herself even though she tries to gulp the seawater down into her lungs, because she rises to the top of the brine and chokes it out, and eventually the sea carries her back to shore. and there she stays, shivering and burning in the cold, dark night.  
  
she wakes to sunlight. something crouches over her. fearful, she pulls backwards, hands digging into the sand.  
  
_did you burn the village,_ the shape asks. aseela does not answer.  
  
_answer,_ the shape demands. _who burned the village?_  
  
_the warships,_ aseela croaks.  
  
_no,_ the shape says. _you did. aren't you the magic child?_  
  
_i am aseela,_ she says.  
  
_no,_ the shape replies. _not any longer._  
  
aseela cannot respond. she swallows, mouth thick with brine. the shape takes her arm and pulls her to her feet. she stares, watching this stranger in fine robes look at her with her burned, sand-filled hair and the tatters of her dress.  
  
_you are the magic child,_ he says. _you commanded the flames._  
  
_the fire chose me,_ aseela says, miserably. _i pick it up in my hands and it hurts me no more than water would. i do not feel it burn until after it is gone._  
  
_good,_ the man says. he is tall and brown and has a cane despite being a young man. _i will take you, then. teach you. you have much to learn, aversa._  
  
_my name is aseela,_ she protests.  
  
_not anymore,_ he replies. _come, aversa. it is a long journey to the mainland._  
  
and that is when aseela dies.

* * *

  
  
aversa returns when she is older, much older, and taller.

for the past twenty years she has worn heavy gray silks because salt-bleeders like herself cannot wear the vibrant red and purple of the mainland, and been told to keep her head down and do what she is told. master trims the burned edges off her hair and tells her you will be beautiful one day and she supposes that beautiful is a good thing, but by the time she's old enough beautiful doesn't matter because whoever she lies with will die once they are sated and spill their secrets to her over their pillows. the stories say the sea-women drew out those who fell to temptation to be dashed to death by the tides on the rocks and could aversa remember those stories she would laugh and say _i suppose i_ have _become a sea-woman now._ but she is bitter and only wishes her teeth were that of a shark.  
  
the memories of the island are new; master began to tell her that that life is over and when it was clear that her mind was still filled with thoughts of the sea and the wind moving through the reeds he got out his tomes and chanted _no more, no more,_ and her head would start to hurt like fire was rushing through it and when it was done she would forget the events and faces of before the fire when she was twelve. by her fourteenth year her life was learning from books and her master's hands on her chin, her back, her thigh, telling her again and again that she does what he tells her and _this is what your job will be when you are a woman,_ and she nods and keeps her mouth shut because he says that if he wants to hear her voice he will ask. the bed he gives her downstairs is softer than the reed mat on the sand but by then she has forgotten what it felt like to hear the ocean singing her to sleep and she falls asleep to spells running through her head and the feeling of touching, touching, breath on her neck and words in her ear. she does not understand but she will when she's older. her skin feels empty without someone else's but she wraps herself in the flaxen sheet and tries to remember what it was like to be held, simply held, and she never can.  
  
master makes her forget but she remembers _aseela, aseela, aseela,_ and the feeling of waves in place of hands on her skin.  
  
after the war is over she mounts her pegasus (nyx is her name; a pure-black mare built long and slender like aversa herself. aversa feeds her cut-up fruits and braids wild grasses into her mane but isn't certain why, and when she rides up above the clouds in the sky she tastes freedom on her tongue and for a minute her beauty and the sway of her hips does not matter because there is no one she needs to seduce; there is no one but herself and nyx) and flies, though she knows not where she goes. she wanders with nothing but the clothes on her back and the cloak over her shoulders and the lance at her hip and the things in her satchel. her golden armor dulls with travel, the black clothes she wears beneath tear and fade, her boots end up caked in mud and dirt. she sleeps on the ground again and learns the song of crickets and wind in the trees, and it is almost like the ocean she barely remembers. almost.  
  
in valm she finds the wellspring and people say _it shows you who you truly are,_ and she wonders how that happens. when she looks into it the waters show her a little girl with deep brown skin and bare feet that played with the hermit crabs in the surf and made fireballs in her little hands when the nights were cold, and kept the torches burning at night to keep the village lit and safe from predators. she sees a little girl in a skirt woven from reeds pounded into fabric and a chest bare in the island breeze that sings to herself when she gathers fruits for her grandmother. she sees a brother and a sister that are not hers by blood but that love her as an elder sister anyway, and a grandmother that braids grasses into the air and tells her _you are one with the sea and the land that give us life, and the gods shall bless you,_ and then kisses her nose. she sees a girl named _aseela_ cast out from her village for the magic that killed her parents but that knows love nonetheless. she sees the sea-women that she once dreamed about and she sees the fire that destroyed the village and she sees herself run into the sea and try to breathe lungfuls of water praying _please, please take me, please remove the fire from my veins,_ and the sea that gently carried her back to shore. she sees validar take her under his wing and teach her, shape her into the shape he needed. he molds her with his hands and tells her how to move her body and drop her voice to make those of lesser wills melt in her hands and then how to draw out their secrets with her hands on their chests and thighs, and then how to slip a knife from her sleeve and slit their throat after they're sated and she's learned all she needs to know. he says _this is normal, this is fine, this is what you're supposed to do,_ and she nods and she goes to bed curled into a ball and feeling breath on her neck and people on her skin, their hands and their bodies and their spit and sweat and blood. she feels the stink in her nose and the sourness on her tongue and she wonders, at sixteen, eighteen, twenty-three, twenty-eight, if she's supposed to feel like she's dead when she knows her heart still beats. she can't sleep and not feel like she's going to drift away without someone else's skin on hers and that is why she lived through marriage to the king that she knew didn't love her (but she didn't love him either) but that talked to her like she's something resembling human and made her laugh and let her share his bed because he knew what it felt like to be alone. they were not lovers and they did not make love when they connected physically but they shared a need for connection, for validation, and aversa supposes she misses him like one would a lover, even if they were not lovers.  
  
the army she once fought finds her in the wellspring and she fights the illusions with them, and their leader puts a hand on her shoulder in a friendly way, welcoming her to the army, and she rips away and says _don't touch me,_ and although he's surprised he says _alright, i'm sorry, i won't touch you._ but she joins their army and although some look at her skeptically (frederick does not trust her and it's not because she can't manage to say his name right) their tactician (who she remembers, though the tactician does not remember her) welcomes her and she observes, watches the people interact with one another. there are ylisseans and plegians and feroxi and valmese and everything from everywhere else, and there are children that came back in time to save the world that resent being labeled by a nationality because they grew up in a world that didn't care about flags or nations because survival was something everyone needed to do. and anyway most of them are half-something and half-something else so none of them really care— and aversa respects that.  
  
when the war ends aversa is thirty-two and she does not know what to do now. she has scrubbed the paint from her face and set her armor and her lance aside and spotted silver growing in amongst the white in her hair one strand at a time, though thirty-two is still young so aversa has time before she can reminisce about no longer being beautiful. she does not know what to do and she thinks it's a bad idea but she returns to the island anyway, despite that she's expecting bones at best and rejection at worst. but still, she flies to the seas south of plegia because she cannot live without putting her regrets to rest.  
  
life has returned to the island because there were survivors, somehow, and they built a memorial in the center of town. they have built their buildings higher with stone from the mainland and wood and wicker from the trees of the island. their boats have canvas sails. their homes have curtains dyed in vibrant shades of crimson and violet that aversa has never been allowed to wear because a salt-blood like she is not of the same status as mainlanders— she has always worn gray and black with dull golden embroidery and the only color is the paint on her face when master validar has her appear at his right side for gatherings in his cult. but there is no more cult and no more master and no more paint on her face. she cried murderers when they killed him but something in her that has been stemmed and repressed since master took her from the island and promised to teach her all he knew said _this means i'm free again,_ but after too long a time of shackles that she does not always think exists, freedom is scary. freedom is still scary.  
  
she feels ten years old again, too tall and with magic flowing through her veins that marks her as cursed, a child of sin whose blood killed her mother during her birth and drove her father away on a voyage from which he never returned. they said the ocean killed him for fathering a child with cursed blood and lying with a woman who carries magic in her veins. but an old woman who knew her mother took her in despite that it drove her to the edges of the village and she was bound from then to live as a pariah, and after her daughter and her husband died and left behind their infant daughter and their three-year-old son, she took them in, too. aversa feels sorrow rise in her chest, something she thought she forgot how to feel, when she thinks about grandmother reduced to ash in the fire that burned the village.  
  
but she stands in the village, feeling too tall again and in clothing from the mainland, holding nyx by the reins on the dock. she knows this is something she has to do.  
  
children run past her in skirts made of newer fabrics or woven of reeds and their dark hair spilling over their bare chests, feet bare on the dirt roads. they laugh and play and chase one another, and aversa watches. she walks towards the memorial at the end of the road, nyx waiting for her on the dock, and remembers what it was like to pick up shells and crabs from the surf and sit while grandmother braided grasses into her hair. she walks past a woman outside her house, breastfeeding an infant at her chest, and wonders could that have been me?  
  
she cannot read the names written on the memorial anymore. but she sees candles burning for those who lost (most of the village, she thinks) and she wonders if she can ask the spirits of the dead for forgiveness— if she'd put out the fires with her magic, she thinks, then perhaps some of them could be spared.  
  
"oh, hello," someone behind her says— a young woman's voice, gentle and soft like the sea itself, and aversa thinks if anyone is blessed by the ocean-god, it is her. "are you here to pay your respects?"  
  
aversa turns. the woman behind her has a basket of ocean-flowers on her arm and dark hair cut short, and an undyed flaxen dress fluttering in the sea breeze. she does not speak. she works her mouth, trying to make her throat say something, and fails.  
  
"i come here every week to replace the flowers," the woman says, placing flowers next to the candles on the shelf beneath the names. "most of my friends and their families died in the fires. not all of them, though. some jumped into the sea and the ocean-god sheltered them from the burning. and we rebuilt. did you know someone who died? or…"  
  
aversa swallows. "i… knew someone, yes," she says.  
  
the woman looks at her, eyebrows furrowed. "your hair is white," she says. "are you from the mainland?"  
  
aversa says nothing. _it's nisma,_ something in her screams. _it's your sister, she's alive, she's alive._ aversa wants to fall to her knees and apologize for everything she's done, beg forgiveness despite fully expecting to be turned away again— and this time by her family, where they once embraced her despite the curse running through her blood.  
  
"my name is nisma," the woman says, and the sea rushes in aversa's ears and pounds with her heartbeat. "what's yours?"  
  
aversa swallows. "i'm sorry," she says. she feels sorrow rise in her chest, feels it press behind her eyes and blinks the tears back.  
  
nisma tilts her head. "sorry for what?"  
  
aversa shakes her head and presses her hands to her mouth. tears start down her cheeks. it's too much. it's too much.  
  
"nisma, hurry it up," a man's voice calls. "grandmother needs that basket."  
  
"i'm coming, i'm coming," nisma sighs, putting her flowers on the shelf of the memorial. "you _could_ learn to be patient, atheer."  
  
with a snap of her fingers, nisma ignites a flame in her hand. she re-lights the candles that have blown out. aversa watches, eyes wide.  
  
"i thought this island abhored magic," she says. "i was… always told it was a curse. that those with magic had cinders for blood and their presence was a poison."  
  
"when i was younger, yes," nisma shrugs. "but not anymore. grandmother built the village again and when magic children started to show up, she said it was a gift from the ocean-god to have a child with mana in their veins. my sister aseela had magic. it hurt me to see it, but the other village children always taunted her for it."  
  
"could— could she have stopped the fire?" aversa asks, throat dry, and nisma frowns.  
  
instead of answering, she says "come meet my grandmother. she'll answer the questions you have."  
  
and aversa cannot disobey, so she nods hazily and follows nisma and atheer back to where their grandmother lives— aversa expects them to take her out of the city and into a hut on the beach, but they take her to the center of town to a house with the first story built of stone and the second of wood, and flowers hanging in boxes out the windows and netting as curtains over the doors. there is a porch with two steps up to it and a chair, and a very old woman sits in it with her legs covered by a colorful woven blanket.  
  
"grandmother," nisma calls. "i have your basket back, and i want you to meet somebody."  
  
"i'm off, grandmother," atheer says. "i'll bring back good fish for tonight, i promise."  
  
"wait, don't leave without me," nisma protests. nisma sets the basket on the porch railing and runs after atheer, though atheer is only walking quickly. her legs are shorter, so she runs.  
  
the old woman looks up. there are deep lines in her face from the weather and work and her age, and there are spots on her skin that show up when old people get to be very old. her eyes are very pale but aversa gets the impression that she can still see out of them, and when she stands, her old bones creak and she must use a cane made of sturdy, carved wood to walk.  
  
she hobbles to the porch and down the stairs, and smiles at nisma. "thank you, my child," she says. "those herbs won't gather themselves, eh? and who is…"  
  
her eyes drift to aversa. aversa, who at her full height is nearly seven feet tall without the heeled boots she usually wears, towers over the hunched old woman, but the old woman cranes her neck and looks at her.  
  
"come down here, child, so i can see you without my neck hurting," the old woman says. "my, how tall you are. you have many years of life ahead of you."  
  
aversa swallows, and sits on the porch steps. she wrings her hands, knees pressed together, waiting for judgement. slowly, the old woman touches her face with a gnarled hand. her eyes soften.  
  
"my dear girl," she says, voice shaking. "i thought they took you."  
  
"grandmother?" aversa chokes out. "you remember me?"  
  
"that man in the robes stole you from me," the old woman says. "when the village burned, you told us to leave. i took your siblings and ran to the sea when the second fireball hit the village."  
  
"they didn't believe me," aversa says, tears falling down her cheeks. "nobody but you left. and one of the boys burned my hair. if i'd stayed instead of running, if i'd put out the fire with my magic—"  
  
"hush, child," grandmother says. she strokes aversa's cheek with her thumb. "oh, my aseela… i thought i'd never see you again. was the mainland kind to you, at least? where did you go?"  
  
aversa swallows. she doesn't want to talk about it. "i learned how to use my magic," she says. "but i won't. not again. i don't want to hurt anyone anymore. i don't want to be cursed."  
  
"my dear child, aseela," grandmother says. she kisses her nose, gently. "you could never be cursed. the gods have blessed you."  
  
and aversa bows her head and let the tears fall, and that is when she feels aseela return.

**Author's Note:**

> aversa's trivia is that she's the fondest of taking long swims-- i connected that to being from the ocean, especially since she doesn't remember. i also feel like her character as the "seductress villain" archetype is due to validar manipulating her into being one which would involve sexual abuse because she didn't ask for this nor did she want it, because it's easy to find out people's secrets if they're pillow talk. furthermore i think her relationship with gangrel is a healthy one despite that neither of them are healthy individuals, it's based on a mutual need for affection and validation. they're good friends that insult each other and then feels jam when it gets too personal, and ultimately respect and platonically love each other deeply.
> 
> the names in the piece are based off southeast asian names (specifically malaysia), which i thought made sense since plegia appears to be based off india.


End file.
